Daughter of a Saint
by Nerweniel
Summary: SEQUEL TO "Mother of a Devil"! Bellatrix Lestrange remembers her mother. Her mother, whom she pities. Her mother, whom she hates.
1. Bellatrix Lestrange, Devil

Does anyone know what hate feels like? Does anyone know how loneliness tastes? Does anyone know how it feels, to live a life knowing that your mother didn't want you, knowing that you loathe your mother and can't help loathing her?  
  
No.  
  
I have learnt that my life is a unique one, and yet, I cannot feel happy because of it.  
  
My name is Bellatrix Astoreth Lestrange-Black… I don't even bear the name of my biological father, although I am pretty sure he at least wanted me. He at least loves me, he at least trusts me and learns me things. My father is perhaps not the kindest and softest person on earth, but nor am I.   
  
He could not take proper care of me-I understand that. His cause is too important to spoil it raising one child or another. My father, my Lord as I and everybody call him, has a purpose in his life. A good purpose. He had me adopted by the Black-family, very loyal followers of his, whom he trusted above everything. They treated me, being His Daughter, with all respect possible, but I did not like them. Especially did I not like my "younger sisters". Andromeda, the oldest, was a mudblood-friend who was- the shame!- sorted into Gryffindor, and though the youngest, that pale and almost invisible little Narcissa, was more like our kind, she was too weak for me. She did at least marry a good man, though- Lucius Malfoy- but she was and is entirely dominated by him.   
  
I have never been dominated.  
  
I attended Hogwarts- my foster parents sent their children there as well, and, more important, my Lord heavily insisted on it. I didn't understand, but I was barely more than a child, so I followed.  
  
I hated it there.  
  
I was sorted into Slytherin- well, at least that was a lucky thing! I made some friends- I made friends among the Slyttherins very easily, because their parents, and thus them, all knew very well whose daughter I was. My fellow Housemates accepted me as their leader, even the older ones. We wandered through the corridors at night, we didn't care about detention or House Points, we were the greatest fear of the school and the other students.

We hated our teachers.  
  
Especially that one person, that tall witch with her thick, black hair, mostly twisted into a bun, with her piercing green eyes, with those loads of Transfigurations homework she gave us. With her gaze…  
  
I had the feeling she watched me more than she watched others, but I could not see why. I supposed it was because she somehow had realized I was the "gang leader".   
  
How many times have I not inwardly hexed Minerva Jean McGonagall, how many times have I not noticed her observing me and scolded her for it, how many times have I not called her the ugliest names imaginable? That Gryffindor bitch, Dumbledore's slut, that evil, frustrated old spinster who always knew things better, with her stupid homework and her stupid transforming into a stupid cat, only to catch students off their guard…  
  
And then I graduated.  
  
And then he told me she was my mother.


	2. The Lady with the Bun

My father told me I was the daughter of Minerva Jean McGonagall- and my world collapsed. Or no- I think my world, the world, had collapsed eighteen years earlier. From the very moment I left my mother's body, opened my little eyes and gazed right into a very similar pair of green, fiery eyes…  
  
I, Bellatrix, Devil Number One and the nightmare of every possible teacher at Hogwarts, was the only child of Professor McGonagall, notorious angel among the angels, terribly fair, terribly intelligent, terribly… good!   
  
Hello, I am Bellatrix, daughter of a saint.   
  
A saint with one little secret, though. A guilty, terrible secret.  
  
Me.  
  
I suppose I shouldn't be disappointed because she did not want me. I can even understand her feelings somehow- she, always so good and so fair, and he, my father, the man she did love, dark and evil. At least, to her. Because I have learnt that my father's goal is the one, true one. She never did.  
  
Stupid, stupid woman.  
  
And yet I am disappointed. I am sad. Because, despite everything and all bad words I've ever spoken about her, she always managed to earn the respect of her students and even, in a way, of us. She did not cry when we humiliated her like we humiliated all other teachers. Her voice did not even tremble when we yelled the most horrible things at her. She remained calm, remained herself, ever the cool, collected, intelligent Lady with the Bun…   
  
I am disappointed and I feel lonely. I still feel lonely, abandoned by she who gave me life, every time I remember that terrible night when he, Lord Voldemort, also known as my father, told me the story of two young people. Of Tom and Minerva. Of a devil and a saint.  
  
He had always more been a man of actions than a man of words, yet he knew and I knew as well that he had to tell me the story of my parents.  
  
They really met each other in their seventh year at Hogwarts- he was the Head Boy whilst she was the Head Girl. They were Slytherin and Gryffindor, and thus water and fire, but they somehow fell in love. I know my father loved her and, despite all hate he feels for her, despite everything of what he is and does, still loves her. Perhaps she feels it the very same way- but that I can't know. I'll never know.  
  
After Hogwarts, they married in secret, and three years later- they were both twenty-one- my mother got pregnant.  
  
She gave birth to me, exactly nine months later.  
  
And she ran away.  
  
She did not take me with her, and perhaps it's for that that I blame her the most. Strange, isn't it? I love, I worship my Lord father, and yet I blame my mother for not taking me with her. Why did she leave me behind when she, just a week after my birth, as soon as she had gathered enough strength to properly walk again, ran away to- to Hogwarts? Because that is where she went- oh yes, I know it!   
  
My father always tells me Albus Dumbledore had enchanted her with a love potion, but I don't believe that. I do hate Dumbledore, that ridiculous old man with all his "goodness", but not because of the same reasons as my father does  
  
My father hates him, because he believes he's taken away the only woman he was ever capable of loving. I hate my mother for exactly that reason. Because she's left my father, cowardly. Or, no, not cowardly, just plain treacherously. She probably had only then realized my father had powers far beyond her view. And little Miss McGonagall, my mother, got frightened… or is disgusted more the word?  
  
Or perhaps she did love Albus Dumbledore.  
  
Or perhaps both. 


	3. Despair of a Daughter

Years later, I met her again, for what must have been the first time after my graduation. Though I was captured and she was a free woman, it was still I who triumphed. I had had my revenge. My revenge for a childhood, youth, life without the woman who had given me that very life itself. She had never loved me, even liked me, and for that she had to pay.  
  
I made her pay.  
  
She did not like me, but she did like her "precious little cubs", her Gryffindors. I knew that, through hurting them, I could rip her heart out. And I did not want to rip her heart out, I really did not, and yet I did… Oh to make her feel the loneliness I had felt through all of those years…   
It had become a dream of mine, an obsession even, a need that needed to be fulfilled.  
  
It was fulfilled when I caught poor, little, good Frankie Longbottom, that stupid ex-Head Boy with his ridiculous goodness and his idiotic kindness, and his lovely Hufflepuff wife Alice…   
  
I have not killed them, no. As my father has once told me- killing a good solution, but so unoriginal…  
  
I tortured them into the very madness I myself am condemned to life in.  
  
Condemned by her.  
  
And oh yes she was hurt, that darling, fair Minerva Jean McGonagall. I read it in her very eyes- my own eyes- as she sat there, sweetly holding Albus Dumbledore's hand. Always the dependable sidekick, the calm, serious Deputy Headmistress, and yet on that very moment, as judgement was spoken over me and that terribly weak, foolish husband of mine, I read the panic in her eyes and enjoyed it with ever fibre of my being.   
  
So after all she did remember I was her daughter, now didn't she?  
  
It was sheer triumph, sheer, sheer triumph, and so what if I would go to Azbakan, so what if every Dementor that existed on this damned world would rip all so-called "happy thoughts" out of my already soulless heart?   
  
All my thoughts were nightmares, all my dreams were torment.   
  
Because of her.  
  
And oh, my father would not save me, that I knew. He would not risk everything he had to save me, even though I was his only daughter. I daresay he loved me as much as his own dark and deceived soul allowed him to, but there was always my mother who stood between us.  
  
My mother, whose hair, eyes, appearance, brains I have inherited.  
  
My mother, whose despair I have received.  
  
A/N: And this was the second part of the trilogy… expect a third and longer part, "Towards Zero", soon. 


End file.
